


How Do You Kiss Me?

by bellam_w



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Forehead Kisses, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, if you don't finish s5 they never break up ;), wrist kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 06:30:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12205734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellam_w/pseuds/bellam_w
Summary: He knew that every single one of Mickey’s kisses meant something. Each one had a different meaning but they all shared one thing.Each kiss meant that Mickey loved Ian.





	How Do You Kiss Me?

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the first that I've written but it's the first that I'm putting out and first on this site, so be nice, please

**_The forehead kiss, it means I care_ **

Ian was curled up on the couch, a cup of coffee nestled between his cold hands. He looked tired and achy from a long night serving drinks at the bar a few blocks over. Mickey had managed to convince Ian to leave the Fairy Tale, the older boy not liking how they treated Ian, and Mickey when he showed up. But Ian wanted to serve drinks still, enjoyed working the bar, so they settled on the compromise of the respectable pub.

Debbie had come in, phone pressed to her ear, chatting away loudly. Ian had winced a little, so slight that an ever-observant Mickey only just noticed it. He rested a comforting hand on Ian’s ankle, smiling as Ian kicked his foot closer to the touch. He was bringing the mug to his face when his younger sister squealed and shrieked loudly from the kitchen, followed by a loud shout of, “Oh, he did not!”. Ian had flinched, eyes pinching shut and shoulders tensing up, almost tipping his cup over.

“Be right back”, Mickey mumbled, squeezing Ian’s ankle before he stood up to leave. He wasn’t long, knowing exactly where the pillbox was and the combination for the lock that Fiona had stuck on there after Frank had gotten in a few too many times. He pulled out some painkillers, probably something Vee had swiped from one of the geriatrics that Mickey couldn’t find a fuck to give about.

“Here”, he whispered, handing the bottle to Ian. Before he moved to sit next to him, though, he leant down, pressing a kiss to Ian’s forehead.

The redhead’s eyes slipped shut, not from pain this time. A happy small twitched at the corners of his mouth. Despite it being small, it reached his eyes as soon as they opened. A quiet, “Thank you”, broke Mickey from his staring, knocking him back into reality.

“Take ‘em and we’ll get you into bed, Gallagher”, he said, a breathy laugh coating the words.

**_The shoulder kiss, it means I like to be near you_ **

Chicago didn’t know how to mediate its weather. It was either snowed-in-can’t-move freezing cold or move-and-you-drown-in-sweat sweltering.

Mickey had always preferred winter, even more so once he’d gotten into the swing of being in a relationship with Ian. It was easier to layer up and snuggle close than lay naked in a house with no air-conditioning and a boyfriend you want to mount every time you see a slip of skin.

Things got better once the Gallaghers’ set up the pool. On the warmest of the nights, the older ones would wait up, settling Carl, Debbie and Liam into bed before filling the pool with cool water and lounging around with ice-cold beers and joints of Mickey’s good weed.

“Night, Debs!”, Fiona called up the stairs, already gesturing for Jimmy to start to fill up the pool with the hose attached to the fire hydrant at the end of the street.

Everyone had stripped off as soon as Debbie had rounded the corner of the stairs, clothes being ripped away to reveal bikinis and swim shorts. A pile of sweat soaked clothes had been built on the kitchen table, most of them were to be thrown in the wash anyway.

“Damn, Gallagher”, Mickey whistled, “You look good with a tan”, he teased, hooking a finger in the waistband of Ian’s shorts to pull him towards him. “No longer a pasty ass bitch, I see”, he winked.

“Didn’t hear you complainin’ about my pasty ass last night”, Ian shot back, a glint of mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“Too warm to flirt like that, Firecrotch. I nearly fuckin’ melted last night”, Mickey huffed, referring to when he almost passed out from the heat of the summer mixed with the heat caused by Ian’s relentless pounding.

Ian smirked, using his thumb and middle finger to flick against Mickey’s hip. “Shush”, he hissed, grinning. He took Mickey’s hand, the other grabbing one of the coolers on the counter beside him. “C’mon”, he urged, tugging Mickey slightly.

Outside, the pool was almost filled. People were coming back inside to get phones and beers and weed. Lip was the first in, after telling Kev to kill the stream and chucking the hose out of the pool. “No drowning me tonight, Gallagher”, Mickey threatened, a playful glare setting across his face.

“Would I ever?”, Ian teased, walking towards the ladder on the edge of the pool.

Conversation settled down to a low level once everyone was handed a beer and lounging in the water. That was another thing that Mickey liked about late night pool parties, no fucking kids. No messy kids to splash around too much or encouraging Lip and Ian to put them on their shoulders for a mediocre game of chicken. They could just sit in moderate calmness, sharing jokes and stories with everyone or quiet conversations between the two of them.

“Love you”, Ian muttered, leaning his head atop of Mickey’s as the older boy rested his against Ian’s shoulder. “A lot”, he added.

Mickey hummed, smiling. “Guess I love you too”, he whispered. Mickey waited a moment before turning his head to press a kiss to Ian’s shoulder. He rested his cheek against where he’d just kissed before pulling back up and leaving two short, quick kisses there again. Finally, he let his head rest back where it was before, underneath Ian’s dopey smile.

**_The wrist kiss, it means that every part of you is perfect_ **

Despite being out and proud and together, Mickey and Ian didn’t kiss much outside of the lips. Sure, there was the occasional cheek kiss or the plethora of ones left during sex, but never any anywhere else that were left out of the blue.

It’d been breakfast time at the Gallagher house. Fiona had made a stack of blueberry pancakes and a stack of banana pancakes, meaning there was enough to go around the Gallagher clan and their plus ones, meaning Mickey and Mandy – much to Fiona’s chagrin.

“No fighting’”, she ordered as soon as the plates were placed in the middle of the table. “I ain't cleanin’ blood from the kitchen again”, she muttered, sending a quick, fierce look to Mickey. What? It wasn’t his fault that he was shot in the ass.

Breakfast was, as usual, vaguely uneventful. There was the usual of Carl teasing Debbie, Debbie biting back and it ending in violence or tears (this time Carl got a punch to the bicep), and Lip was drawling on and on about science and math shit that only he understood fully. But it was breakfast and Mickey was sat with a still sleepy Ian and he couldn’t remember being happier around so many people, let alone the fucking Gallaghers.

Speaking of Ian, he stood up, causing Mickey to make a noise that could only be described as an offended whine. “Where’re you goin’?”, he asked, looking up to Ian.

“Coffee. Want some?”, he offered. Mickey nodded, mumbling to Ian, who probably didn’t even hear, that he better hurry the fuck back. “Here, grumpy face”, Ian teased, setting a mug down in front of Mickey. “If the wind changes, that frown’ll stay”, he smirked, taking only a second before it split into the huge grin only Ian Gallagher could wear without looking psychotic.

Mickey settled once Ian had retuned. He dug back into his pancakes, taking breaks only to reply to Ian or glug down a mouthful of the decent coffee Ian had brought over. “Jesus, slow down, no one’s takin’ it from you, Mickey”, Fiona chuckled lightly, sitting down with her own plate once the last of the pancakes had been set onto the two serving plates.

“’m hungry, a’ight?”, he mumbled, sending her a playful glare. Ian had left again, the fucker, on the premise of getting juice. He’d asked if Mickey wanted some, the older boy of course saying no. “Oi, Firecrotch, get me some more juice while you’re up”, he said, causing Ian to spin around and send him a glare and the rest of the Gallaghers to laugh.

Ian placed his glass back down before reaching across Mickey to get his. Mickey caught his arm, holding it in place with a small, tattooed hand wrapped around his forearm. He leaned forward, dropping a soft kiss to the smooth skin of Ian’s pale wrist. “Thanks”, Mickey smiled up at him, releasing his wrist as if he hadn’t just done what he’d done, and done it in front of 5 other people.

Ian flushed, looking flustered before reaching back for the glass. “Juice, yes”, he nodded quickly, leaving towards the fridge, completely oblivious to the adoring look that Mickey couldn’t wipe from his face.

**_The peck kiss, it means I like you_ **

Mickey didn’t like long days. Honestly, who did? But Mickey considered himself in a whole separate category of dislike for long days. He detested them, wanted them to become a person so he could beat the shit out of the bastards. Dramatic? Maybe. The truth? Yes.

Which is why when Mickey got that beautiful text message, a lesser man would’ve cried. He could’ve cried, but he was a Milkovich and they were genetically pre-disposed to waterproof tear ducts. But still, he pulled out his phone and checked the message before replying quickly.

**From: ian x**

**I know it’s last minute but lip brought home cafeteria lasagne & i acquired some garlic bread. Come over?**

**To: ian x**

**omw**

And Mickey didn’t waste time. He went into his bedroom and swapped his shirt out for something that smelled a lot less pimpy than the one he was currently wearing. He knew Ian would freak if he saw the blood Mickey had wiped on his shirt, too, and he didn’t have the patience to deal with Ian’s caring and mothering. He’d like to say that it was because he was tough and didn’t need looking after. But Mickey knew, deep down, that it was because he’d like it too much and screw him for being a little sensitive when he’s tired.

Ian had well and truly fucked him. And not in the good way. Well. Not _just_ in the good way.

 On his way to Ian’s, he couldn’t help but grumble to himself about nothing and everything. People walking slow? Grumble. Windy? Grumble. Ian was too far away? Grumble, grumble, grumble. Luckily, it wasn’t a secret that Mickey became a “grumble grump” when he was tired, a term so affectionately coined by Ian as they laid in bed one night.

“’m not a grumble grump, Gallagher”, Mickey sighed heavily against Ian’s arm that he’d pulled up in front of his face to hold the younger boy closer to his back. “’m just tired, okay? Go to sleep”, he whispered into the darkness of the room.

“Whatever you say”, Ian promised, and the small smile that Mickey could feel on the nape of his neck made some of the grumpiness begin to dissipate. “Night, grumble grump”, his boyfriend whispered, dropping a kiss onto the base of Mickey’s jaw, just under his ear.

Mickey wanted to grumble yet again at the fact that he could hear the Gallaghers before he’d even made his way halfway up the back stairs. He pushed into the house, a frown on his face, and turned to the group sat at the table. “Mickey!”, Fiona beamed, “Ian said you were coming, there’s a plate on the side for you”, she said softly, clearly taking in his displeased demeanour.

The Gallaghers seemed to have some kind of seating plan at the kitchen table, one that had been adapted to involve Mickey. Fiona sat at the head of the table at the bottom and Liam sat at the head of the table at the other end, his booster chair never moving from there. Lip, Ian and Mickey sat down one side and Carl and Debbie on the other.

Before Mickey went to get his plate, though, he walked over to Ian and ran a hand over the back of his hair, settling it at the bottom of his neck and let his thumb spray out over his freckled shoulder. The redhead’s face turned upwards, looking directly at Mickey questioningly. Just as Ian was about to say something, Mickey dipped down and pressed a kiss to Ian’s lips.

It wasn’t long or deep, it was a simple peck. A simple, lingering peck that seemed to start the cogs turning in Mickey to rid himself of the anger and the stress and the grumbliness of the day.

“What’s with the frowny face?”, Ian asked softly when Mickey sat down with a plate of lasagne. He was quiet, only just audible.

“You want a list?”, Mickey asked shortly, surprising the Gallaghers, but only a few showed it. Ian seemed completely unfazed, though, as his eyes told Mickey that, yes, he did want a list. “I had to beat on a fuckin’ guy for not telling us about his round two Upstairs”, he started, clenching his fists as he relived the memory of the fuck’s head being bashed in. “Your fuckin’ brother’s sat there staring at me like I’m in a fuckin’ museum”, Mickey glared at Lip, “And the idea that you were off stealing garlic bread didn’t do much to entertain me like it usually would”, he snapped.

“’m not starin’”, Lip defended, shoving some of the aforementioned, stolen garlic bread into his mouth. Ian looked at his brother, rolling his eyes. “Just don’t see you two being all coupley that often, forget about it sometimes”, he shrugged. Mickey glared, rolling his eyes with more malice than Ian had.

“Well forget about it now, asshole”

**_The shoulder blade kiss, it means I like to spend time with you_ **

 He wouldn’t go as far as to say that he loved them, that term was reserved for someone very specific, but Mickey liked the Gallaghers. Before, he used to tolerate them because they let him live with them, with Ian, away from the shitshow that was the Milkovich house. But the Gallaghers are like damn weeds, they grow on you quicker than you expect and there’s fuck all you can do to stop it.

There were some adjustments done to the Gallagher house’s sleeping arrangements. With Lip away at college and living with his girlfriend, he didn’t come home and stay the night anymore. Even if he did come home, he was only a train ride or a car journey back to his apartment, meaning another room was freed up. One that Ian snatched up ridiculously quickly, even if it was already going for him.

It was needed, too. Liam was too big for his little bed in the back corner of the room and, with only two beds in the room, it meant that Carl could have a bigger mattress that wasn’t on a frame older than the teenager himself.

It also meant that Ian and Mickey had their own room. As much as Mickey grumbled that it didn’t really count if “everyone can hear every time we fuckin’ breathe”, it meant everything to the both of them. No more cramping up into a tiny single bed, no more awkward walks ins by Carl or someone putting Liam down, no more teasing when someone walked in on them cuddling.

Much to Mickey’s secret pleasure, it also increased the domesticity factor that was already bubbling within Ian. The older boy would often come home to find Ian cleaning, taking short breaks to help one of his siblings with homework, or carefully carrying Liam to bed when the tyke had crashed out on the couch. It was nice. It also took some stress off Fiona, meaning she could get a better job with a better wage, which, along with Mickey’s thievery and pimping and Ian’s bartending at a bar a few blocks down from the alibi, the Gallagher household were making their way closer and closer to the poverty line. Who knows, they might cross it soon.

Sleeping next to someone every night made Mickey softer. He’d wake up and expect Ian to be next to him and go downstairs grumbling in disappointment if he wasn’t. He’d wait for Ian to climb into bed next to him and wrap him in his freckly octopus limbs before he went to sleep and had started to find it increasingly difficult to get to sleep without Ian attached to him.

So, when Mickey awoke in the double bed, white sheets and covers spread over him a lot more decently than they should’ve been, he didn’t even need to look to know that Ian wasn’t there. There wasn’t the distinctive warmth of him or the soft musk of him drifting around or the annoying heat of Ian pressed to his back. All Mickey wanted to do was pull the covers around him and roll into Ian’s side like he usually did in the morning. It was nice and safe and it was the two of them in their own little bubble, away from the squealing kids and responsibilities and Mickey loved it.

He pulled himself from the bed, legs hanging off the side. He reached out for a pair of cuffed sweats that he’d found on the floor. As soon as he’d tugged them on, he knew that they were Ian’s. Once he’d pulled the cuffs above his ankles, the soft material sagged and billowed out slightly, but Mickey didn’t care and the only person who’d give him shit for it would be Ian. It wouldn’t have any heat behind it, either, just that shit-eating grin that he got whenever Mickey did anything cute.

After deciding to forgo a shirt due to the nudity acceptance rule within the Gallagher house, he trudged downstairs, bouncing down the last couple when the smell of bacon hit his nose. Mickey emerged from the bottom of the steps to see the kitchen full, just like it always was on weekend mornings. Everyone was sat at the table and Ian was stood at the cooker, equally as shirtless.

“Mornin’, Mickey”, Debs smiled from behind her glass of juice. Fiona turned to greet him too, Lip just nodding at him from where he was sat, helping Liam eat his food.

“You look weird”, Carl said simply, tapping on the table by his empty plate. “Ian, how long’s breakfast gonna be?”, he whined.

“Won’t be any if you keep insultin’ my boyfriend”, Ian teased, turning to send a playful glare to Carl. “Mornin’, beautiful”, Ian smiled softly, turning back around to face the cooker.

Mickey walked over to Ian, not hesitating before wrapping his arms around Ian’s waist, linking his hands over Ian’s abdomen. “Mornin’”, Mickey whispered into Ian’s soft skin. “Missed ya”, he murmured.

“Couldn’t get back to sleep, made sure to tuck you back in”, Ian muttered, only loud enough for Mickey, but the older boy could hear the smirk clear as day.

“Fuck off”, Mickey hissed, twisting one of his hands to nip at Ian’s skin with his nails. “Don’t need tucking in”, he grumbled.

They stayed stood like that, Mickey’s head resting between Ian’s shoulder blades happily. He almost fell back to sleep where he stood, Ian’s heartbeat coming through to Mickey’s ear in a soothing rhythm. Ian never moved too much, allowing Mickey to lean as long as he liked. Once the cooker was turned off and the rest of the food was plated up, Ian dropped a hand to hold onto Mickey’s linked ones. “I gotta move, babe”, Ian murmured lowly, voice rumbling through him.

Mickey just huffed in reply before turning his head and dropping a kiss to the middle of Ian’s shoulder blades. He dropped his hands to Ian’s hips, pressing another kiss to the same spot before peeling himself away from the warm skin. “C’mon, cooker boy. Feed the hungry mouths”, Mickey quipped teasingly.

Ian had swatted him on the thigh before bringing the plates over and letting his family help themselves. Mickey had sat down, waiting for Ian to sit next to him with their plates full before leaning over and close to his ear. “As nice as this looks, I really hope you’ve got afters upstairs”, he breathed.

“Mickey Milkovich, shut your fuckin’ face”, Ian growled lowly.

“Make me, Gallagher”.

**_The jaw kiss, it means I’m really into you_ **

In the early stages of them being properly together, Mickey wasn’t overly into public displays of affection. If he was displaying anything, it was when only the two of them were behind a door. No siblings, no best friends. Just them.

Things change, times change, people change. Ian and Mickey changed. Mickey got better at showing his love and Ian learned how to show Mickey he appreciated the efforts that Mickey was going to for him. Because to someone else, a kiss on the cheek was as simple as that, a fleeting gesture that was often expected and went uncommented on. But to Mickey, it was everything. It was vulnerability and love and showing the world, even if it was only the 5 other Gallaghers and Mandy, that Ian was his and he loved him.

Mickey got clingy, though. It was a fact he actively denied and one that Ian actively encouraged. It all started simply, Mickey demanding to sit next to Ian on the couch. That then progressed into Mickey sitting _on_ Ian on the couch. In the winter, he’d snuggle close to his boyfriend’s chest and hug the blanket close under his chin, making sure Ian had enough.

In bed, Mickey started by indulging Ian in his spooning obsession. He let him wrap his arms around him and hold him close to his chest. Ian’s back would face the door, putting a barrier between Mickey and the outside world as the older boy faced the wall. Of course, that then progressed, ending up with Mickey not being able to sleep without Ian and finding immense comfort in laying Ian on his back and sprawling across the redhead’s firm chest.

The last part of Mickey’s life to be taken over by his obsession and possession of Ian was his daily life and physical actions. Before, he’d yell goodbye to Ian from wherever he was in the house. As time went on, he’d jog down the stairs or dip his head around the kitchen entrance and give Ian a smile with a quick, “Bye, babe”.

Until one morning in late November. Ian was getting ready to leave, wrapping a scarf of Mickey’s loosely around his neck on the older boy’s suggestion (command). Fiona was in the kitchen, pulling on her office heels as quickly as possible, almost skidding on her way up and out of the house. “Thanks for dropping him off, Ian!”, she yelled as she ran out of the front door.

Lip was shoving Liam into some gloves and a hat. His backpack was off to the side. It was shut but it was that full of books and papers that they left an obvious extrusion. “You good with this?”, Lip asked, patting the shoulders of Liam’s aged looking winter jacket.

“It’s running him to school, Lip. I’m not 7, I can do something that simple”, Ian scoffed. “I’ll get going. If you’ve left by the time I’m back, don’t wait so long before the next visit, okay?”, he asked sincerely. “You coming?”, he asked, turning to Mickey.

“Nah, promised Lana I’d nick some clothes for the kid. Best get in when it’s early”, Mickey shrugged. Ian could tell that he didn’t want to, that he wanted to drop all responsibility of the kid and come with Ian to do something so ridiculously domestic like drop off his little brother.

“Okay. I’ll be here when you’re done”, Ian promised. Lip had sent Liam over, the little boy now tugging at Ian’s hand. “Yeah, little man. You ready to go?”, he asked, looking down at his baby brother.

Ian was heading out of the door when someone grabbed his free arm. “Love you”, Mickey murmured, leaning up to attach his lips to the corner of Ian’s jaw. He pulled away slowly but chastely, shutting the door as soon as he had.

The chilly wind caught the slight wet spot that the kiss had left, causing Ian to shiver. “Ian”, Liam said in his little voice. “Schoo, Schoo!”, he cheered, tugging on Ian’s hand again.

“Yeah, Li. Let’s go to school”, Ian smiled, his free hand coming up to his jaw, pawing over where Mickey had just whispered his love for him.

**_The French kiss, it means you’re mine._ **

Mickey had always been possessive.

As a kid, he was possessive over the few toys he’d managed to steal. As a teenager, he was possessive over his sister and his weed and his booze. As a 20-year-old he was possessive over a ridiculously attractive redhead with pretty, green eyes and a heart the size of Illinois.

At first, being possessive over Ian terrified Mickey. He was scared the younger boy would hate it and leave and accuse him of being controlling. But, to Mickey’s surprise, it turned out to be the exact opposite.

Ian revelled in his possession. He wore the hickies Mickey left like a badge of honour, he held Mickey’s hand like he was holding on to a bag of gold. At the Gallagher house, he’d hold onto Mickey when he sat down near him or on him or obeyed him when the older boy asked for his long legs over his lap or his head dropped onto his shoulder.

The others didn’t like it as much as Ian, though. At first, the girls had found it cute but that novelty soon wore off, the guys hating it straight away. They’d ask them if it was really necessary to be as touchy-feely as they were. “We know you’re together, do you gotta do that?”, Fiona had asked on her way past the couch one day.

Mickey had grumbled, rolling his eyes before shoving Ian’s legs from his lap with a huff. Ian had let out a whine of protest before kicking his legs straight back up again. He let them fall carefully into Mickey’s lap and only sagged back into his relaxed spot when Mickey rested his soothing hand on Ian’s calf, stroking down to his ankle and back up again.

Apparently, though, the family had very strange views on what was too much. The Gallaghers, plus Kev and Vee, had been gathered in the kitchen one night. Food had been eaten and people were happily sitting and chatting. “Ian, go grab us some more beers and juice, would you?”, Fiona had asked with a hopeful smile.

“Sure, course”, Ian replied. He turned to Mickey, “Come help me”, he said, shoving at the older boy’s shoulder as he stood up.

They were minding their own business, doing as asked, sharing a conversation between the two of them. “I still can’t believe that that guy from the bar still keeps tryin’ to chat you up”, Mickey had spat, handing Ian a bottle of juice.

“Hmm”, Ian hummed, “You’d think my boyfriend’s fist through his face would get a message across”, he smirked, reaching to pass glasses over to Mickey as he uncapped the juice bottle.

“You know”, Debbie piped up from the table, causing everyone to turn to her. “You guys are all personal space invading and stuff, but we never see you kiss”, she stated, looking at the pair of them challengingly.

“Yeah, she’s right”, Carl said, looking briefly horrified that he was agreeing with his sister on something. “Do you guys not kiss or something?”, he asked, looking at an annoyed looking Mickey and a fed-up Ian.

“Of course, we kiss, Carl”, Ian sighed heavily. “We’ve been together for, like, 2 years. Did you expect us to just hold hands?”, he teased, walking over with two glasses of juice for Debbie and Carl.

“But you don’t do it in front of people”, Carl pressed further. “Fiona does and Kev and Vee do”, he said, “Why don’t you?”.

“Not our thing, kid”, Mickey brushed off awkwardly, sending an apologetic look to Ian.

“Are you ashamed of him?”, Debbie jumped in, looking at Mickey accusatively. Fiona attempted to jump in, reel Debbie and Carl in, and Mickey could see all the negative emotions swirling within their older brother.

He could see it because he’d seen it before. Seen it when Mickey was ashamed of Ian but he still dragged the love-struck teenager along as he looked at Mickey like he put the stars in the sky and lifted the sun in the morning. He could see the doubt and the worry and the insecurity and the war between believing his sister and what he knew to be true.

“Why would you say something like that?”, Mickey asked, slamming the beer bottles down onto the table harder than was needed. “Your brother’s the best thing to happen to me, don’t be puttin’ dumb shit like that in his head”, he spat angrily, defensively. His voice quietened, “Lord knows I’ve done it enough”, he muttered.

Ian had wandered back over to where the beers were. He was messing with the cap of his bottle, looking anywhere but his family. Fiona had started scolding Debbie and Carl for “getting involved in something that has nothing to do with either of you”. An awkward lull of conversation was pulled over the table, making noise for noise sake so Mickey could go comfort Ian.

“You know she’s wrong, right?”, Mickey murmured, slipping his fingers between Ian’s that hung by his side. “She’s wrong, Ian. So fuckin’ wrong”, he muttered. “I know we don’t do much, like, publicly and shit but we can. If you want that, we can. I can get used to it”, Mickey tried to sound confident but his voice wavered from his first word.

“No, no”, Ian rushed. “I’m not forcin’ you into somethin’ like that because then I won’t enjoy it”, he mumbled. “I just… I know you’re different. I know you are and I love it and I love you”, Ian murmured, turning to face Mickey, squeezing their locked fingers. “I just… I still remember how it felt”, he whispered, voice so quiet that Mickey knew he was trying to keep it from cracking.

“Hey, look at me, babe”, Mickey said, resting a hand on Ian’s jaw. “I love you. I love you so fuckin’ much that it scares me”, he smiled at Ian. “But you make me feel everything, all at once. No one’s ever done that, only you. I don’t care anymore, Ian. Because you’re mine and I love you”, he whispered into the small gap between their mouths.

“Can I kiss you?”, Ian asked quietly, eyes constantly flickering between Mickey’s eyes and his lips.

He didn’t get a reply, only Mickey’s lips pressing against his. They started off as a firm press, assuring Ian that he was there and he wasn’t lying. But they got the better of themselves, got carried away. Ian’s lips nudged against Mickey’s, moving ever so slightly.

Teeth locked over Mickey’s lip gently, pulling it away. When Ian released, Mickey’s lip bounced back and he gasped silently as Ian’s lips covered his again. Ian took advantage, letting his tongue slip through into Mickey’s mouth, skimming along the side of the older boy’s.

“I love you, Mick”, Ian breathed, looping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. Mickey let his head rest under Ian’s chin, whispering his reply against the skin of Ian’s neck, letting his lips rub over the soft skin as he spoke. “Tickles, stop”, Ian muttered.

Mickey just smiled.

**_Any kiss, it means I love you_ **

Fiona and Lip were the worst for it. They knew what it was like to be in something like a serious relationship. They knew what it took to keep one rolling, knew the toll it could take if you were fighting. They understood the logistics of a relationship, that was a fact that Ian wasn’t disputing. But they didn’t know the logistics of Mickey.

“You guys never seem to talk”, Fiona had said once.

“He never tells you he loves you when you tell him”, Lip had quipped just after.

“Are you sure you’re on the same page?”, Fiona had asked.

“Are you in it for the same thing?”, Lip had asked a few moments later.

Mickey had pushed through the front door just as the conversational debate had started. He didn’t want to be hanging around corners listening to his boyfriend’s private family conversations, but he was involved in it. It was about him and Ian. He was allowed to listen in if was about him and Ian.

“Yeah, we are”, Ian had said simply, dismissively.

“Are you sure? Lip’s right, Ian. It seems very one-sided”, Fiona had said, her worrying, mothering tone set deep into her words. Mickey’s stomach dropped. Did people think he didn’t love Ian? Did the very people he lived with doubt his intentions?

Did Ian?

Ian had turned back around to face his only older siblings. “Well, good job it’s not, isn’t it?”, he rolled his eyes, reaching for the packet of smokes on the counter.

“He doesn’t talk to you, Ian. You guys just seem like really good friends or something”, Lip accused as Ian lit the cigarette he’d perched between his lips.

“I know Mickey better than the two of you know each other. I know what he’s saying when he says nothing at all”, Ian defended. “I wouldn’t wait around if I didn’t think things were going to work out with him”, he told his siblings. “I’m happy with Mickey and I know that Mickey’s happy with me, can we leave it there?”.

Mickey could tell that Ian was getting stressed. His shoulders were coiling up defensively. He wanted to step into the room, wrap Ian in his arms and scream every word he knew that could describe just how perfect Ian was. How the redhead’s arms were built to hold Mickey and how his legs fit so perfectly in the crook of his own. How his talkative personality complemented his quietness so amazingly, how he loved how Ian knew what he trying to say when he couldn’t find the words or find the strength to say them.

“Oh, Mick!”, Ian beamed, “Hey”. Mickey had stepped out, walking towards Ian. He perched himself on his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around Ian’s neck, pulling him into him closely. “Missed you, love you”, he murmured into the skin of Mickey’s neck.

Mickey dropped a kiss behind Ian’s ear, grinning into the soft skin. Ian’s hand ran his hands through his dark hair, coming to rest carefully on his head, staying like that when they pulled back. “I know, Gallagher. It’s alright”, Mickey soothed, reaching a hand up to Ian’s shoulder. “Let it go”, he breathed.

“But - ”, Ian stammered. “Okay”. Lip and Fiona looked on confused. They’d seen it before and they’d see it again but each time it baffled them. How Ian and Mickey could have an entire conversation in a hug, a kiss and a few words.

Because they didn’t know Mickey. Not like Ian did.

They didn’t know that Mickey had always been better at physicality than using his words unless they were threats. He was better showing than saying and, even though it took him time to do so, he showed Ian every chance he got.

They also didn’t know that Ian had learned.

He’d learned what Mickey’s kisses meant, what his looks meant and his smiles and his touches. Ian knew Mickey better than he knew himself. He knew how Mickey liked to sleep and how he liked his pancakes and his coffee and the detergent he liked.

He knew that every single one of Mickey’s kisses meant something. Each one had a different meaning but they all shared one thing.

Each kiss meant that Mickey loved Ian.


End file.
